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This piece was first published by our sister publication The Stranger.
Each one of Erika Rier’s ceramic creatures has its own story, and most of them are at least a little unsettling. There’s the vampiric little girl with several sets of eyes, and the crowned and horned woman clenching what appears to be a not-very-alive bunny—something menacing is lurking within all of them. But what Rier didn’t anticipate when she first began sculpting these colorful friends years ago was the new lives they’d take on once they left her studio.
“People can accumulate these, and then they can make stories that I’ve never even thought of by just putting them together,” she says. “That appeals to the storyteller part of me. I feel like I’m always trying to put things in there, little archetypal bits that people can pull to make stories for themselves with.”
Rier’s characters are inspired by a love of mythology and storytelling—“I’m obsessed with Athena,” she says—and that fiction is balanced with the very real experience of being a woman and, often, a commentary on the toxic misogyny people face every day. The result has proven to be off-putting to some. (Jerks, mostly.) “[My sculptures] are people and animals and creatures who have full lives, full experiences, and full personalities,” she says. “There are parts of ourselves, as feminine people, where we are beautiful and joyous and pleasant, and there are parts of us that are ugly and mean and not great. And we’re all like that. Unfortunately, my work is still really sidelined because it is over-the-top feminine in a world that, at best, ignores the feminine, and at worst, is absolutely hostile towards it.”
Here, Rier gives us a closer look at her sculpture And Chain and shows us that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Unless you’re one of the misogynists. In which case, run.
Click on the image to enlarge.
1. Some of Rier’s ceramic friends start out as miniatures and take different shapes over the course of several years. “In And Chain, there’s the bird-beaked woman. I call her the Bird Witch,” says Rier. “She’s an evolving character. A lot of the time, I’ll just have a piece of scrap clay and I’ll be like, ‘I’ll just see where this clay takes me.’ In doing so, I start to get ideas for larger pieces. Usually I’ll make a little monster and I’ll be like ‘Oh, I love that,’ and I’ll sketch a bigger or more complicated version.”
2. Rier laughs when asked about the origin stories of her figurines. “Where do they come from? I always am stuck on certain stories. There are a bunch of Sumerian myths that I’m really obsessed with, but also just the basic story of Eve eating the apple preoccupies me constantly. I’m decidedly agnostic, but it’s such a weird story! And it’s so the basis of Western misogyny, I’m obsessed with it.”
3. Rier’s work table is covered with phrases that she wants to remember for future sculptures. The conversation in And Chain is based on something she overheard in real life. “The married couple that owned the studio that I rented had the most absurd banter—they actually said this to each other.”
4. The original ceramic chain Rier made for And Chain fused up in the kiln. “I actually broke it trying to fix it, and cut my hand horribly,” she says. “It was terrible!” But a friend with a 3D printer came to the rescue. “I was pretty excited to incorporate a different [technique], and it took a few times to get the chain just the right vibe—that was a cool process.”
5. Most of Rier’s characters have stereotypical “pretty” features—long eyelashes, shapely lips, bows or flowers in their hair—but there’s always a darker side: shifty eyes, sharp teeth, and horns and bones and snakes. “I love that tension, right? It’s a little sinister, but then it’s got a cutesy little outfit on,” says Rier. “Evil doesn’t always look evil.”
Erika Rier will table at Gamjam 4 AKA Grass Hut Art Market in the old Ulta space near the Marshall’s entrance in the Lloyd Center Mall, NE 15th and NE Halsey, Sat Oct 4, 11 am-6 pm, $2 admission, all ages. Reir will also be at Portland Zine Symposium in Smith Memorial Ballroom at Portland State University, 1825 SW Broadway, Nov 9, 11 am-5 pm, FREE, all ages.
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Megan Seling
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